Chapter 11 #2
The gravel driveway was about a tenth of a mile long, but we finally reached the camp office with lights blazing inside.
“Thank God!” Avery shouted over the pounding rain and grabbed the door handle, yanking it open and rushing inside.
I followed her and shook out the water pooling on my head and shoulders.
Avery tilted the umbrella sideways and twirled it to remove the water before closing it. Then, she took a good look at me.
“Oh, my lord!” Avery brought a hand to her mouth. “You’re soaked.”
I shrugged.
“I thought you were under the umbrella!”
“There was only room for one. I thought it should be you,” I admitted.
A pained expression crossed her face, but she said nothing as a voice boomed behind the check-in desk.
“Are you the Warrens?” A rotund black man with a horseshoe ring of gray hair around his bald head called us from the desk. He was shorter, maybe 5’7”, and his weathered face told me he had seen a few things. “We’ve been expecting you.”
“I am Warren.” I pointed to my chest. “How did you know we would be here?”
“The reservation!” The man cried. “The Warrens. Here for the marriage boot camp?”
My eyebrows rose in surprise. “Absolutely not.”
“Warren is his first name,” Avery interrupted. “I’m Avery. We just got married.” She held up her hand to show off the ring, and that caveman response flooded me again.
Mine.
“Oh, my word! I am so sorry about that. A little hard of hearing, you see,” the man yelled, pointing to his ears. “I’m Gerald Ringle, and I run the camp. The missus has been on my case to get hearing aids. Wait until she hears about this. I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“Yeah, you will,” Avery chuckled. “You could tune her out, right?”
Gerald’s eyes twinkled as he laughed with his whole body. His round belly shook. “That is a good one, my dear. But please, whatever you do, do not tell Mrs. Ringle!”
“Your secret’s safe with me,” Avery promised, making an X over her heart with her finger.
“Now, let’s get you checked in.” Gerald turned to a set of cubbyholes behind the desk. He grabbed two old-fashioned brass keys and laid them on the desk. “You’re in cabin one. We set that one aside for the newlyweds.”
“I think there has been a misunderstanding,” I said.
Avery clutched my arm. “You silly goose! You forgot. We are newlyweds. Avery Hunter and Warren Atwell. Cabin one. Thank you.” She grabbed the keys and slid them into her pocket. “If you could point us in the right direction.”
Gerald emerged from behind the desk and waddled to the front door, gesturing toward the trees. “It’s that way, but my, my. It is certainly coming down out there. You need a better umbrella!”
I felt vindicated by his statement but said nothing. Avery shrugged. “We’re already wet. We can dry off when we get there.”
“Your luggage arrived this morning, so you’ll have dry clothes!” Gerald exclaimed. “The group already had dinner, but Mrs. Ringle stocked the kitchenette for you, so you should find the fixings for sandwiches or snacks. You won’t go hungry tonight.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but Avery shot me a look, and I kept quiet. I was unsure what was happening here, but Avery seemed to have a plan.
“The itinerary is in your cabin. Breakfast is at 8:30. We’ll see you in the morning!” Gerald called out as we took off through the front door and outside toward the cabin.
It was a short dash down a muddy path, the earthy scent of damp soil and pine trees mingling in the air, to reach the log cabin replica in a clearing surrounded by towering evergreens.
We hustled up the weathered front stairs and stood on the covered porch, catching our breath as the warm, golden glow from lights inside the cabin filled the windows on either side of the door.
Avery pulled the keys from her pocket. Sliding one into the door’s lock, it clicked open, and the door swung inward to reveal the inviting interior of the open-concept cabin.
A floor lamp illuminated the space and highlighted the king-sized bed.
The kitchenette sparkled with colorful, mismatched dishware.
A sturdy wooden table for two was tucked underneath one of the front windows.
A bathroom door to the right cracked open, revealing glimpses of smooth stone tiles and wooden accents.
I started to enter the cabin but realized Avery was still standing on the porch. “What are you doing? Come inside.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you going to carry me across the threshold, Honey Bunches of Oats?”
It was a terrible idea. So, why did I suddenly scoop her into my arms and move forward into the cabin without a second thought?
Avery laughed and slapped my chest. “Put me down, Mr. Hunter. I was kidding.”
“Mr. Hunter?” I cocked my head to the side as I returned her to her feet.
“I’m trying it on,” she sniffed. “Who says the woman has to take the man’s last name? Taking the man’s last name is only a series of receipts where women were previously seen as property.”
“Good point.”
“Let’s see if there’s a phone in here somewhere.” Avery searched the cabin as if she had a warrant and I was hiding drugs. She opened cabinets, the fully stocked fridge, underneath the sink, the closet—which contained two brightly colored suitcases—and the nightstands. There was no phone anywhere.
“What is your plan? Why did you accept the keys?” I asked, dripping all over the entryway. I placed the open umbrella outside on the porch to hopefully dry out.
She popped her hands on her hips. “Well, since we’re soaking wet, and this place has a bathroom and towels, I thought we could get showered and dry off. I haven’t cleaned up since before our date - yesterday.”
“Ah.”
“And, since the Warrens aren’t here yet, maybe we could borrow their clothes until we get a ride for gas,” Avery suggested, heading toward the closet. She yanked the suitcases into the living area and went to set one piece of luggage on the bed.
I stepped up and placed my hand on the suitcase. “Please do not put that on the bed. There is no telling what it has been in contact with.”
She grimaced and released the suitcase. “What do you suggest?”
I moved to the kitchenette, opened the cabinet underneath the sink, and pulled out two trash bags. “Here. Place this on one of the dining chairs, then you can use that to open the suitcase.”
She tilted her head at me but took my advice. “Why do you think they shipped their suitcases ahead of time?”
“More than two million bags are lost in air travel annually,” I answered. “Shipping the luggage could be seen as more secure.”
Avery laughed.
“What is funny?”
“You. I thought I knew a lot of random trivia from working in the news for so long, but you have me beat. I bet no one will play a trivia game with you.”
I shrugged. “I do not know. I have never played trivia before.”
She clapped her hand over her mouth. “We have to change that! Trivia games are my jamity-jam, man.”
“Probably because you know so many trivial items?”
She grinned at me. “Probably.” She squinted at the names on the suitcases. “That one’s Mr. Warren, and this one’s Mrs. Warren. Let’s see what our options are, shall we?”
I opened the blue suitcase with constellations painted on the side and sighed.
I hoped the inside of the bag would not resemble the outside, but those hopes were dashed when I stared into the contents.
Colorful clothing in a rainbow of hues assaulted my senses.
There was not a single pair of black pants in sight.
I pulled out a pair of red jeans and searched for the label.
It would be a little big, but I had a belt that would work.
Underneath the jeans was a black T-shirt and a packet of brand-new underwear. That was the good news.
“What the hell?” Avery pulled out a pair of sweatpants with the word “Bride” on the backside in sequins. “What do you think, Oh Man O’ Mine?” She held them up to the back of her waist and turned around in a circle.
I pulled the red jeans and underwear in front of my dick that did not get the message that we were not truly married. “I believe that is tradition for the bride to wear clothing that labels her as the bride, is it not?”
She stared at the package of briefs in my hand.
“Wait. You got fresh underwear?” Avery dove into her pink constellation suitcase to search for undergarments.
She came up with a packing cube of previously worn items. “Yuk. I have no problem wearing another woman’s clothes, but I draw the line at her used underwear. ”
I nodded and strode back to the kitchenette, where I found a tiny bottle of dish soap. “Here. Wash your panties with this, then roll them into one of the towels in the bathroom. That should get them dry enough to wear again, I think.”
Avery snickered. “Panties. You said panties.”
“What else do you call them?”
“Underwear. Panties sound so cringy.” Avery grimaced. “Do you mind if I take the first shower?”
“Be my guest,” I said.
Avery grabbed the dish soap, the sweatpants, and a matching “Bride” T-shirt out of the suitcase and went into the bathroom, softly closing the door behind her.
I dropped the red jeans and packet of underwear on the bed and shook my head. The erection was still there. We needed to return to Pleasure Point before I did something stupid.